“They’re not the same as my father told me to pick,” cried Perry.
“Well, seeing as you’re young gents, and I’m only a sarvant,” grumbled the man, “it ain’t for me to contradict, and I won’t; but I will say them’s the seeds the colonel told me to pick, and there they are, and you’d better put ’em away.”
“I’m not going to put these in my pocket,” said Cyril, “for I know they’re wrong.”
“And I certainly shan’t put them in mine,” said Perry.
“Look here, young gents, ain’t this a bit mutinous?” said John Manning. “Colonel’s orders were that we should collect them seeds, and if you’d got the best lot, I should have helped you; but as you haven’t got the best lot, and I have, ain’t it your duty to help me?”
“Yes; and so we should, if you hadn’t made a blunder.”
“But I ain’t, young gents; these here are right.”
“No,” said Perry. “These are right,” and he took a few seeds from his pocket.
“And these,” said Cyril, following his companion’s example.
“Not they,” cried John Manning warmly. “They ain’t a bit like mine.”